


The King's Son

by Tyler743



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, DC Comics Rebirth, F/M, Fantasy, Older Damian Wayne, Warlocks, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24450136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyler743/pseuds/Tyler743
Summary: DC Comics Fantasy AU"I had always known that I was marked, but it took me a while to realize what that actually entailed. My father and I were soldiers, used for the protection of his royal majesty and silver spooned son. Held captive under a blood oath, pledged by my grandfather many years before I was born, we were at least treated well by the royals and their people, but the large bat shaped brand on the insides of our wrists was a constant reminder of what we really were.Slaves."
Relationships: Damian Wayne & Rose Wilson, Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel, Raven/Damian Wayne
Comments: 1
Kudos: 27





	The King's Son

**Author's Note:**

> This is an older fanfiction that I just found again! I absolutely adore the ideas and story-line I have planned for it, and I'm a bit ashamed I forgot about its existence. So now I will continue it! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do! If you do, please drop a comment and let me know :) 
> 
> If you like my work and follow it, I will be updating a few other fics this week, so keep an eye out for them!

_**Prologue** _

The wind rustled the trees together, their bare branches rattling like bones. The night was quiet, still, and cool air leaked down from the mountains, covering the forest floor in a thin layer of frost. Most of the animals had already begun their long awaited slumber, taking refuge in any form of shelter they could find, readying themselves for the harsh winter that would soon be coming. Just past the forest, down below a large cliff, a castle town was nestled in the valley. Almost all of the houses that surrounded the castle were without light, the villagers slept soundly. Two figured emerged from the shadows of the trees, clad in large, dark cloaks. They stood in silence for a moment, looking down at the town, their cloaks dancing around them.

“Tomorrow,” one of the figures spoke, it was a man. His hoarse voice was quiet but dripped with poison. “It happens tomorrow. If we stick to what we have discussed, everything will work out in our favor.”

“And if it doesn’t?” the second voice was a girl, and although her voice was deep she sounded young. “What if everything goes horribly wrong?”

“As long as we get the boy, everything will be fine.”

“And The King? That will be a challenge.”

“What’s a mission without a little bit of a challenge?” There was a smile to his voice. “Don’t you agree?”

The other figured turned, the wind blowing the heavy hood from her head. The girl was no older than sixteen, her beautiful crimson eyes flickering with light that was not present, and her silver hair coiling around her thin face. She pulled her full lips into a smile.

“Of course, father.”

* * *

** _I_ **

I had always known that I was marked, but it took me a while to realize what that actually entailed. The rules were simple, yet to a child very difficult to understand, which was why my father spared me the luxury of childhood innocence and taught me everything that was essential to know. At least, everything that was essential to know for living the lifestyle we lived.

When most children were being told a bedtime story to put them to sleep, I was training for sleep deprivation. When most children were out playing with friends, I was being forced to stand, alert and waiting for an enemy attack or brushing up my combat skills in the training room. My father and I were soldiers, used for the protection of his royal majesty and silver spooned son. Held captive under a blood oath, pledged by my grandfather many years before I was born, we were at least treated well by the royals and their people, but the large bat shaped brand on the insides of our wrists was a constant reminder of what we really were.

_Slaves._

The older I grew, and the more I learned about the reality of the situation, the more I began to resent the people around me; the king, the prince, my grandfather and even my father. He was a strong person at heart, and although I knew he could do nothing against the orders of our king, he never spoke ill of our superiors and obeyed, every time, without hesitation. Some may have seen it as being admirable, but I saw it as weak and pathetic. Because of my father’s upbringing, however, I stayed as equally loyal, though I could not always stay as silent. By my thirteenth birthday, I was given the position of being the personal guard for the young prince himself, who, fortunately, was as equally as obedient to me as I was meant to be to him. This gave me the freedom for the next three years to speak my mind when we were alone together, and not get in trouble.

“Are you almost done in there?” I asked, annoyed that it was taking him so long to get dressed. I stood with my arms crossed tightly over my chest and my back against the wall just outside of the young prince’s room. It was a big day for him, his thirteenth birthday; the age where he left childhood behind and became a prepubescent, perhaps the toughest three years for a royal. While his 16th birthday and coronation as king would be much more significant celebration ceremonies, the three years he would spend as an adolescent would force him to buckle down on his training and schooling, neither of which I knew he had any interest in.

“Almost,” I heard his muffled voice break through the door. My eyes narrowed slightly. He had _almost_ been ready for half the morning.

“You are dressed in your traditional robe...right?”

“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t forget that.”

“Well, you did forget your bow during last week’s archery lesson...so I wouldn’t put it past you.” Sarcasm dripped from my tongue. As intelligent as the prince was, he had a very high tendency for forgetting the most crucial things at the most crucial times. There was a crashing sound, and a quick, high pitch yelp from the other side of the door. I quickly pushed off of the wall, spun on my heels and pushed it open, my eyes immediately landing on the young prince who was sprawled on the floor, a large golden sash wrapped awkwardly around his body. Sighing I walked over to him and bent down to help, he just smiled.

“Oops...” he mumbled as I pulled him to his feet. He stood with his arms outstretched to the sides, allowing me to adjust the sash around him.

“God help the kingdom once you take over.” I hissed, pulling away from him. The traditional robe that he wore was very elegant, and on someone who might fill it out better, would look very regal. Unfortunately his height did him no justice as his scrawny frame allowed the material to hang off of him like limp skin. He bobbed his arms a few times, one of his dark eyebrows raising.

“Well, how does it look?” His azure eyes were hopeful.

“Adequate at best.” I turned around and nodded my head towards the door. “Now let’s get going, you were expected in the great hall at sun rise, which it is clearly not, anymore. If I get in trouble because of you-”

I hastened out of the room and down the hall, the princes feet scuffing quickly behind me. It wasn’t often that I did get scolded, but when I did it was almost always because of something that was out of my control; the young prince sleeping in, the young prince skipping his classes, the young prince forgetting something. I was the babysitter who couldn’t catch a break because of the spoiled, privileged child I was destined to watch. He didn’t take his duties seriously, he didn’t take his title seriously, and I was always the one who paid the price for it.

He jogged up beside me. “I’m sorry Damian, this thing was a lot harder to get on than you’d expect. I’ll tell my father that it was my fault, honest.” His winy apology and promise only annoyed me further and I pressed on faster.

“I would say not to let it happen again, but knowing you, I may as well ask the wall.” When we arrived in the great hall, I was not surprised to see that the rehearsal had already begun. The King was perched in his throne at the far end of the room, my father mounted at his side. We were on the other end of the room but I could see his dark eyes glaring down at me. I swallowed and nudged the prince forward with my hand, his feet once again scuffing against the marble floor. A dark, hooded man, who had been speaking before the king, stopped talking and all heads in the room turned to us.

“Jonathan,” the king announced, his voice deep but calm. “You’re late.”

The prince looked back at me quickly over his shoulder before stumbling forward. “I’m sorry father,” he apologized, rushing past the hooded man, bowing his head quickly at him before taking a seat in a much smaller throne beside the kings. I followed silently behind him, positioning myself beside my own father. My green eyes met his for only a moment, but the anger that I sensed was very evident. My back straightening and I stood alert. “I overslept, and then Damian had to help me with-”

The king held his hand up, silencing the boy before turning his attention back to the priest on nodding. “My apologies, High Mage. Continue, please.”

Clearing his throat, the mage looked back down at the book that sat in his hands. “By the order of our beloved goddess Hyppolyta herself, I bestow the honor onto young prince Jonathan, of joining us, brothers and protectors of Kryptonia, forever bonded by the divine.” He looked up from his book. “This is, course of, where the young majesty will come demonstrate the ancient spell.”

The king, my father and I all looked at Jon, whose cheeks had become pale. His father nodded at him, urging him to do as he was told. He hesitated for a moment before jumping out of his seat and slowly descending towards the High Mage. He was nervous, it wasn’t hard to tell. But if he was having a hard time now, with only the chambermaids and stable boys watching, tonight was going to be a disaster.

Jon stopped before the High Mage, quickly brushing his black fringe from his forehead and gulping. The High Mage straightened himself and looked down at the future king.

“Young King Jonathan the first. Place your left hand on the sacred script, and with your divine power, bring forth the light of Hyppolyta!”

I had to force myself not to smile. This was going to be rich.

Jon took a deep breath and raised his hand to the pages of the book, as directed. He closed his eyes tightly, and everything went quiet, so quiet you could hear a needle hit the floor. The king pushed himself to the edge of his throne, waiting in anticipation, but nothing was happening. The High Mage tilted his head slightly after a moment, his eyes still glued to the young man before him.

“Bring forth the light of Hyppolyta!” he repeated. Jon shifted in his spot, one of his blue eyes opening.

“I’m trying…” he mumbled in a whisper that was unfortunately echoed throughout the chamber. I scoffed, trying to mask it as a cough by raising my hand to my mouth as a fist. My father shot me an unimpressed glance, and another moment later, the king cleared his throat.

“Perhaps, for now, High Mage we can move on.” He suggested, causing the High Mage to nod his head, bringing the book towards his chest and away from Jon’s hand. The prince stomped one foot, like a pampered five year old and turned around, his shoulders slumping forward.

“I can do this, I’ve been practicing really hard. Haven’t I, Damian?” he pleaded desperately. I shook my head as all eyes landed on me and bowed slightly.

“His majesty the young prince has been trying, my lord.” Why must he put me on the spot?

Jon turned back to the High Mage. “Please, can’t we try for a little bit longer? I know I can do it.”

“Jonathan, there are more pressing matters to focus on right now. You can try the spell again later, you have all day until the ceremony.” The king said. Jon groaned and looked back at him, his brows furrowed together. They stared at each other for a moment before finally Jon nodded slowly and turned back to the High Mage.

“Okay…”

There was a brief pause before the High Mage continued. “Divine goddess, Hyppolyta. Bless this child and guide him through the magical journey he is about to partake. The next three years will be difficult, but will prepare him greatly as a warlock, and as future king of Krytonia.”

My eyes became hazy as I spaced out from the sermon and looked over the small crowd of people who sat in silence at the tables of the hall. Jonathan wanted to become a great warlock like his father, but from what I could tell that would take a tremendous, almost unrealistic amount of training. At least twenty five days out of the moon cycle, we would spend in the conjuring room where he would practice for hours with Lady Diana, a very high regarded caster in the kingdom. Watching was painful, as the prince never seemed to improve, at least from my perspective, making me question if he really was a warlock at all. Lady Diana was a bit more generous with her patience and always encouraged him for the next practice. If that amount of training did nothing for the boy, he either needed the goddess Hyppolyta herself to assist him or there was just no hope.

“In three moon’s time, Prince Jonathan will begin his journey to the high mountains, leaving behind his boyhood and giving himself entirely to our lady goddess, for the sake of the kingdom.”

My mind snapped back into the moment and my brows furrowed at the High Mage’s words. Jon took a step back from him, his upper body twisting around to face his father once again, panic stretched across his face.

“You’re sending me away?” he demanded, his tone in utter disbelief. I too was stunned, this had been the first I had heard of it, my father was normally very consistent in informing me with such matters. Why was this time different? “To live in the high mountains? For three years?” With each question his voice became more and more frantic. The king frowned.

“Jon…it is the way of the warlock, and a very necessary part of your training.” He told him gently. Jon shook his head rapidly.

“Well, I don’t want to go anywhere. I can train here…with Lady Diana.”

“Even Lady Diana took this journey. She would not be nearly as powerful as she is, had she stay here. The same goes for me, and the same will go for you.”

“I don’t care,” everyone in the room began to whisper, the princes snowballing tantrum no doubt on their tongues. “I don’t want to go.”

“Unfortunately, you don’t have a say in the matter. It is your duty as the future king to protect your people.”

Jon took a few steps toward us, his body close enough now that I could see the tears welling in his eyes. I could understand his strife; being made do something you don’t want to do for the sake of your position wasn’t great. But it was something that needed to be done, everyone had their place. “If being the future king means going away to live by myself in the mountains for three years, doing nothing but training then I don’t want to-”

Before he could finish, the king pushed away from his throne, standing tall. “That is the last I will hear of it,” he snapped, silencing the dark haired preteen. “Tonight you will take your vows to Hyppolyta, and in three moons time you will leave to begin your training in the mountains with the High mage. It is what is meant to be.” He nodded his head and sat back down, staring seriously at his son. Jon pursed his lips, trying his best not to let the tears fall, failing horribly as one rolled down his cheek. He stifled back a sob, turned around and ran down the hall towards the door, disappearing out of the room. The whispering became louder, the High Mage stood in confusion, and the king leaned his face in his hand.

“Everyone dismissed!” he groaned loudly. Everyone quickly vacated the room, leaving the king, my father, the High Mage and I, all alone. I turned to my father.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” I hissed, eyes narrowed. “Don’t you think it would have been something useful for me to know?”

“Hold your tongue, Damian.” He murmured through barred teeth. I scrunched my face, trying my hardest not to curse him out right then and there, and had the King and High Mage not have been there, I probably would have.

“He will come around, your majesty.” The High Mage assured as he walked slightly closer to the throne, his long, musky cloak dragging behind him. The king stood again and walked forward, my father and I right at his heels. We all began to walk down the great hall towards the door.

“He doesn’t have a choice. It’s his duty to learn the way of the warlock. It’s in his blood.” He took a deep breath and exhaled, turning his head over his shoulder towards my father. “What do you think, Bruce?”

I looked up at my father’s serious complexion. His eyebrows came together while he thought about it for a few seconds. “I think that Lord Jonathan is still a child. He doesn’t know what he want’s yet. It may take him time, but he will learn his place soon enough.” Spoken like a true Wayne.

We exited the great hall, the cool autumn air nipping at my cheeks as we left the slight shelter of warmth that the room had given us. I looked ahead of us, into the courtyard. The trees still bore leaves, but they were dull and dying. Winter would soon grace Kryptonia with its presence, which meant the high mountains would be even colder. Jon hated the cold, Jon hated a lot of things.

“You’re right, old friend.” The king said with a nod, turning to face my father. He placed a hand on his shoulder. “I just don’t know what I’m doing with him, Lois would have been a much more fitting parent.”

Queen Lois. The one royal who I actually felt a connection with. She was kind, and mother like, even to me. I still remember the day she died of the sickness, eight years ago. At one time she was a beautiful woman with high cheekbones and soft, long hair. But in the last few days before her death she had turned into an empty shell with ghost-like features; one that would haunt any eight year old for eternity. On the eve of her death my father instructed me to retrieve the young prince, five at the time, from her quarters. The King insist he say goodbye, though, even as a child I knew it was pointless; he didn’t understand what was happening, he didn’t understand that he was saying goodbye to his mother forever.

When I had entered the room, he was perched by the window, looking outside at the snow dancing from the sky, gibbering nonsense as the king sat at his wife’s bedside, her hand resting in his own. Flies buzzed around her crippled, gray skin. Her cheekbones that had once been an image of beauty poked through her skin like glass through cloth, and I would never be able to forget the smell of the room; the smell of rotting human flesh. The smell of death.

“She would be proud with all you’ve accomplished for Jon.” My father guaranteed with a small smile that made me sick. I hated his compassion towards these people, no matter how many times they treated us as friends, we were not.

The King smiled back and for a moment was silent before he turned to me. “Damian, please go check on Jon for me. I assume he will listen to you much more than he will me in the current moment.”

I bowed. It wasn’t a question, it was a demand, an order. My point exactly.

As I pivoted around and headed towards the royal sleeping quarters, I couldn’t help but wonder; if Jon were to go on this high mountain journey, what would become of me? Would I be forced to go along with him, or would I stay here and serve the court alongside my father? Either way I was still imprisoned by my own fate and lack of freewill. I was born marked, and when the time came, I would die marked, may that be of illness, natural cause or by defending my _royal prince_. It was just the way things had to be.


End file.
